Bulwark
by TheSecondaryAntagonist
Summary: There's a simple truth to Remnant; it is not safe. Not within the Kingdoms and certainly not outside of them. But the harsh lesson, the one that changes you, the one Jaune learnt early; not all the danger is from the Grimm. RWBY AU
1. Prologue: In Silent Streets

**Hey, so here's the opening of a new story.**

 **Read it, enjoy it, let me know what you think.**

 **Obvious disclaimer, I own nothing.**

 **Basic concept; things take a different path for Jaune when he moves to an expansion outside of Vale. Expect trials, tribulations, ordeals, intrigue. All that stuff.**

* * *

 **Prologue**

 **In Silent Streets**

* * *

 _'The history of our expansions has not been a kind one. It has been cruel, it has been bloody, and it has been filled with loss. Many of you believe this endeavour is doomed to follow that self-same path, another Mountain Glenn, another tomb-city. You may even be right. But we must keep trying, keep hoping. To stop is to say that this world does not belong to us, it belongs to the Grimm, and that we are indeed, Remnants. And I do not believe that. I refuse to.'_

 _Councilman James Roxburgh – The Outpost Address_

 _Announcing Vale's 3_ _rd_ _attempt at a major expansion; the settlement was overrun within a year.  
Roxburgh was present at the fall; he did not survive._

* * *

Silence.

Utter silence, save for him.

The beating of his heart filled the air with its dull thuds, his every footstep echoed through the empty streets. Even his shallow breaths seemed like a sharp clap, painfully loud in the face of the absolute silence.

This was wrong, fundamentally wrong. Cities weren't that quiet, even in the dead of night there's always some noise. A drunk stumbling home, the quiet murmuring of a house not yet sleeping. Something.

But there wasn't. There was nothing.

The tip of his sword led the way as he crept through the darkened streets, the moon providing just enough light to see. His eyes swivelled frantically, trying to keep watch of everything at once. Every opening and every shadow, every light and ever door; they all had to be watched or he'd be caught unawares.

He wasn't smart or strong or skilled, so instead he was careful. And he just had to hope that caution, and no small measure of luck, would be enough to survive.

The shield was a comforting weight on his arm, its solidity providing a feeling of protection despite not knowing how to properly make use of it. Without it, he doubted he'd have the courage to creep through the dead streets, past the scars of battle and the corpses of Grimm and people alike.

Even so, he didn't dare look too closely. The fear of recognising any of the fallen was almost enough to break his resolve.

He was heading home. Hoping to find some method of contact, something to get him out of this mess, or at the very least some measure of familiarity.

He heard it before he saw it.

A bloodthirsty howl that came from anywhere and everywhere.

Immediately he stopped, planting his feet and raising his weapons in a clumsy stance. His head twisted with fearful uncertainty, desperate to spot the monster that had made its presence, and its purpose, known.

Burning red eyes, a hungry malice.

It broke into a vicious run.

He glimpsed a lupine form of black flesh and white bone. Then it was upon him.

A deadly claw swung directly at his face, caught instinctively on the face of his shield. The force of the blow sent him skidding backwards, barely managing to keep his feet under him. He narrowly avoided two successive attempts to rip him apart, but the clumsy dodges left him with poor footing, off-balance with no chance for a solid block. Something the Beowulf ruthlessly took advantage of.

His shield aside was brushed aside with a negligent gesture even as its second vicious claw went to gore him. He sliced at it, barely more than a panicked swing but somehow he managed to connect. Not enough to harm even the most minor Beowulf, a cursory wound at best, but it deterred the strike.

Its furious howl at being struck was almost enough to deafen him, the stench of decay from its jaws washing over his face. He took the opportunity to retreat a few paces, knowing that otherwise he'd be slaughtered in short order.

It was too fast, he was too slow. The outcome was evident.

His only hope was in advance warning.

It lunged, closing the gap in the blink of an eye. Deadly teeth snapped at his neck, saliva and remains of previous prey spattering across his face, but the extra instant had bought him his life.

He met the lunge with a solid blow from his shield before it tore into his neck, slamming it against the open jaws. A piercing screech sounded as the Beowulf gnashed its teeth; the bone scrabbled for purchase against the metal even as it pushed forward.

Frantically, he threw all of his weight against the shield. His breath came harshly as muscles burned with protest, but to no avail.

It didn't retreat, it didn't even slow. It simply pushed back and pushed harder.

He slid backwards, his feet losing traction on the blood-slickened ground.

He was going to die.

Any second now, it would remember that it had claws and tear into him, unable to block or avoid them. Or he'd simply lose his footing and fall to the ground, helpless to its feasting.

Another corpse for the pile. More blood for the stone streets.

Prey before a hunter.

With a scream of defiance, anguish and more than anything else, fear; he thrust blindly. Driving his sword forward with all of his strength and just hoping it would be enough to save him.

Couldn't see, couldn't aim, he just thrust.

The body went slack, collapsing against his shield. The dead weight took him by surprise, nearly knocking him to the ground.

Whether through meagre skill, instinct or just sheer dumb luck, the blade has pierced its neck. He ripped the sword to the side with a strained grunt, freeing it in a spray of blood that coated his already grimy face.

It collapsed to the ground. Another monster to become ash and smoke.

He needed a moment.

Both his heart and lungs were screaming with the exertion, pushed beyond their limits by the brief exchange. A noise bubbled up in his throat, just barely smothered before it could be anything more than a gurgle. Whether it would have been a laugh or sob he couldn't say.

A creature of Grimm had been fought and killed by his hand, and his hand alone. Not only killed it, but escaping unscathed. It had been a close thing, but he'd lived. Survived where many would have fallen.

Where many had fallen.

It wasn't a happy thought, but neither was it a sad one. He couldn't muster up the energy to be proud of his accomplishment, nor to feel grief at the fall of others. He was just numb.

With a sigh, he wiped his face on his sleeve, clearing away the worst of the blood along with the scraps from the Beowulf's maw. He didn't want to dwell on what they were.

A faint skitter sounded behind him.

He spun, sword extended to slice into whatever had tried to catch him off-guard.

Nothing.

Still air in an empty street.

His stomach sank like a stone; he knew what was about to happen.

Even so, he tried to pivot back around. Swinging his sword once more in pure desperation.

For a split second he saw cruelly sharp claws. And then all he knew was pain.

They ripped deeply into his face, a trio of deep furrows carved from his forehead to jaw. The flesh tore. His left eye popped like an overripe grape, blood and fluid pouring forth in a torrent of gore.

He lost his grip on the sword, tugged out of his hand the moment it met resistance.

The spin had saved his life; a second slower and the Beowulf's claw would have struck directly at his exposed neck.

A second faster than death.

Then again, it might have been better. A quick death was at least painless.

His screams of pure agony echoed through the streets, none left to hear it but the Grimm.

And hear it they did.

* * *

 **So I'm trying to get back into writing shape; let me know what you think, if you like, dislike or loathe it. Anything really.**

 **Fair warning; I can't promise consistent scheduled updates, or even that I'll finish this. All I can commit to right now is that I have a plan and a few more chapters already written. Also, this story starts pretty slow. As in, it'll probably be a little while before Jaune reaches Beacon or has any major interaction with the main cast.**


	2. Chapter 1: A Lack of Sleep

**Yeah most chapter's will probably be pretty short, at least at first. They may get longer as things pick up, we'll see.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **A Lack of Sleep**

* * *

Jaune woke with a start, scrabbling against the confines of his sheets as his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Panicked, shallow breaths filled the room; his own. Instinctively he grasped at something, some phantom object he couldn't quite reach, held back by his bindings.

His every instinct screamed.

He had to get up. He had to get out. He had to do it now.

He was trapped.

The strength in his limbs disappeared quickly in his fruitless struggle, leaving his body limp against the mattress. His bonds seemingly even tighter than they'd been, fiercely constricting his chest as he fought to breathe.

He was confined.

A panicked yell rose in his throat but found no release, smothered in his throat for him to choke on.

His head swam from a lack of air.

He was caught.

He would die.

Stop.

Breathe.

Jaune forced himself to calm down; taking great shuddering breaths as he greedily filled his protesting lungs. The phantom sensations faded as clarity arrived, disappearing along with the images of his dreaming as the line between nightmare and waking was re-established.

The only bindings were of his own making, a cocoon of sheets and blankets. But even so, he searched for some reason for his panic.

There was a distinct lack of sunlight outside; in fact, the only light was from the shattered moon slipping through the narrow gap of his curtains, softly illuminating his bedroom. A confused glance at the clock yielded that it wasn't yet midnight. He'd gone to bed less than an hour ago.

Jaune's eyes trailed across the room, still looking for any sign of threat or danger. Nothing out of the ordinary; scatterings of teenage possessions and childhood mementoes. Everything just as he'd left it.

There was nothing. He could hear nothing. For all intents and purposes, there was nothing.

Just an ordinary night in Vale.

There was no reason for him to be awake then, no actual reason as least. Just Jaune himself, just nightmares.

With a strangled groan, he slumped back against his pillows and hoped for a more restful slumber. Hoped for sleep to take away the bruises to his body and his pride.

But panic wasn't so easily shed. It was simply replaced with another kind of fear. Fear of the future. Fear of failing, of continuing to fail. Disappointment behind soft smiles, pity hidden in empty reassurances.

His path was laid bare before him.

As he was wont to do, Jaune relived his greatest failings in the dead of night, when all he wanted to do was forget.

Forget his failings, forget his future, and even forget he was Jaune Arc.

Yesterday marked the third time he'd attempted to qualify for combat school, the third time he had failed. Left behind by his classmates and more talented siblings, condemned to sit at home and be ordinary.

An adequate boy of heroic stock.

His eyes snapped open. Staunchly pretending his cheeks weren't damp, he forced his mind away from self-pity.

Strange.

His heart was still pounded.

In fact, it hadn't stopped since his abrupt awakening. Hadn't even slowed for that matter, not even for a second. There was a prickle in his spine, a half-realised tingle setting him on edge.

Carefully, Jaune crept from his bed to investigate, the sheets that had been trapping him shed with ease. He softly padded to the door, avoiding the creaky floorboards with the ease of familiarity.

Once there, he hesitated. A glint in the corner of the room caught his attention; Crocea Mors.

It lay where he'd dropped it, partially covered by a discarded hoodie and gleaming in the light of the moon. For a moment, he considered taking it. Arming himself against whatever was out there setting him so ill at ease.

Monsters tearing through streets, images of fire and blood.

Then he caught himself, shaking off his fears as if they were water.

This was Vale. The likelihood of a Grimm incursion was ridiculously low, and even if it happened, there would be blaring sirens and the din of battle. He definitely wouldn't have woken himself up. There was no reason to be afraid.

Still, there was something. Some call to investigate that he couldn't quite put words to.

So he slipped into the hallway, and immediately heard them; muffled voices from the sitting room.

He followed, his baby-blue onesie soundless against the floors as he carefully inched his way towards them. Thankfully, he didn't have to contend with the creaky stairs or his eavesdropping would have ended before it begun.

Scores of pictures lined the hallway walls, ranging from an old photo of a young couple posing next to a giant felled Grimm, to those same two aged decades with Jaune between them that had been taken only a couple of years ago. Jaune's gaze lingered on a photo in the middle of the bunch; the couple surrounded by a veritable litter of blond and dark-haired girls, his infant self held by the eldest.

One of the few times they'd all been together at the same time. The largess of the family and nature of their work made full reunions admittedly difficult.

'I don't like it Jaq, I just don't.'

He broke his gaze away from the photos and continued on to hover just outside the closed sitting room door. As close to it as he could be, but not daring to actually touch it.

'What's not to like? Cushy lodging, good pay, lighting the fires of civilization.'

'Jaq.'

'Well, fire. Singular. Still, pretty good.'

'Be serious, please.'

'Also I suppose technically we'd only be maintaining it, not lighting it.'

' ** _Jaq_** _.'_

The voice cracked like a whip, unquestionably firm and feminine; Jaune's mother.

'Alright, alright. Fine. Seriously then,'

Jaune rolled his eyes at his parents back and forth, his mother as usual needing to corral his father's absent cheer. It sprung up in everything from conversations about breakfast to deciding how to discipline Jaune and his siblings.

'When's the last time there was a chance like this? Lia, it's worth it.'

But there was something more serious, something not normally present in their exchanges. At least not the ones he was privy to. His father resonated with firm conviction, whereas his mother sounded resigned.

A third voice broke in before she could respond.

'I'm afraid it's not quite that simple.'

The voice was familiar, immediately recognisable to Jaune despite never having met the man in person. Professor Ozpin, the headmaster of Beacon Academy, the foremost Hunter Academy of Vale.

'You don't mean?' she questioned warily.

'Ballucis asked for the two of you specifically, and despite the difficulties that have arisen with Mistral –or more accurately because of them, the Council has agreed.'

A whoop of exultation sounded from the room before cutting off with an audible click of teeth. Jaune quickly smothered a snort, picturing the incredibly familiar withering glare his mother would have levelled at his father to silence him.

'No's not an option?'

'Vale is determined to see this succeed.'

Liadain Arc gave a disgusted sigh of defeat, almost fearful in its weariness.

'However history...is not on our side.'

Ozpin's words were soft, heavy with the weight of the past. Jaune could almost see his father's grin falter and his mother's shoulder slump as a sombreness settled over the room.

After a short silence, he spoke again.

'I would advise caution. That Ballucis felt the need to request more Valian hunters instead of bringing them from Mistral is concerning. Regardless, we'll speak more before you depart, but for the moment I believe young Mr. Arc has a few questions.'

Jaune wasn't able to move. He scarcely had time to blink before the door opened, leaving him teetering over the threshold. Jaquard Arc grinned down at his son as he held open the door. Ozpin watched from the couch, seemingly unconcerned by the spying. Whereas his mother...his mother had locked eyes with Jaune and was tapping her foot in a decidedly unamused fashion.

He gave an audible gulp.

'I was sleepwalking?'

'I'll walk you out Oz,' Jaq laughed, not even offering a token attempt to mask his amusement. The famed headmaster nodded his farewell with a faint smile and together they departed, leaving Jaune alone and fidgeting nervously under his mother's stare.

'Yeah. I didn't think so.'

* * *

'You know, I think you might be kinda overreacting.'

Liadain effortlessly dragged Jaune down the hallway, his ear pinched between two slender but deceptively powerful fingers. His protests were ignored with ease, unsurprisingly he supposed, after years of raising children that had all be difficult in one way or another.

He would have said he wasn't, and truthfully he was probably one of the least troublesome in the family, even if it was only because he didn't have the same capability to cause trouble that his sisters did. Still though, this wasn't exactly the first time he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

At the entrance of his room, she tossed him with a negligent gesture that sent him soaring through the air with a startled yelp, only to land comfortably on his bed. He turned to glare at her, opening his mouth to offer a scathing remark before she disabused him of the notion by cocking a single eyebrow.

It was almost impressive just how much danger she could convey with a simple gesture.

Jaune swallowed his words and hung his head, the fight rushing out of him in an instant. Instead he kept his gaze down, smoothing out the folds in his onesie with nervous fingers in an attempt to regain some measure of dignity.

With a soft sigh, she settled on the edge of his bed, startling Jaune as the mattress shifted.

'You know better Jaune. Some things aren't for your ears.'

The irritation in her voice was evident, but not entirely directed at him. Even so, Jaune kept his eyes fixed firmly on his knees, almost subconsciously sinking into himself under his mother's chastisement.

It was like he was ten years old again, caught trying to sneak off with some of her dust.

'Couldn't sleep,' he said by way of explanation.

'Jaune.'

At the softening of her tone, Jaune looked up to meet her eyes. The sheer darkness of her hair seemed to draw in the moonlight, almost consuming it in stark contrast to the paleness of her skin which virtually glowed in the dimness. Her face was imperious; full of sharp but beautiful angles that couldn't be softened, but her eyes held nothing but gentle worry.

'What's going on?'

He cut her off with a question before she could begin, not giving her the chance to connect his wakefulness to his latest failure. Or at least, not giving her the chance to verbalize the connection she'd assuredly already made.

Immediately, the irritation returned. Her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. The angles of her face becoming harsher as the violet of her eyes flashed dangerously. But, if anything, the worry had only grown more pronounced.

'Your father and I have been given a mission, a long one.'

'How long?' he whispered, dreading the all too familiar feeling of longs days alone at home. Of being helpless, useless while everyone else fought for both the lives of others and their own.

'Forever, potentially.' Liadain gave a wry grin at Jaune's obvious confusion before clarifying. 'We've been asked to help safeguard Bulwark.'

Bulwark.

He knew the name.

Every few decades there would be an attempt for a major expansion, taking land from the Grimm and rendering it habitable. A decidedly grander and more difficult endeavour than the villages, mining outposts and agricultural areas littered across Remnant.

Mountain Glenn had been the first of its kind, for Vale at least. Situated in the south-east and ending in utter disaster, a slow massacre. Every major expansion thus far had ended the same way, in failure.

Not always bloody, not even always because of the Grimm, but never lasting.

Bulwark was the latest attempt on Vytal, and so far the most successful for any Kingdom in recorded history. Already standing for more than a decade without being overrun, without ever even having its wall breached. A significant achievement considering that most attempts fell entirely within the first few years.

It was apparently no small undertaking, living up to its name as the Helios Company poured lien into making it defensible.

'So, we'll be moving there soon. Best start packing.'

Jaune expressed his confusion with an extremely eloquent, 'Huh?'

'Moving Jaune, all of us,' she replied with an amused twitch of her lips. 'We can't exactly leave you living here alone, and none of your sisters are really in the best position to take you in. I imagine Verdant will also be joining us, at least for a while after her graduation.'

Liadain rose from the bed and lightly kissed his forehead.

'Go to bed Jaune.'

The door closed gently. Leaving Jaune to lie back, close his eyes and simply wait for sleep.

It wouldn't come easily; imaginings of a life at Bulwark filling his mind.

Moving outside the Kingdom. It was at once an exciting and terrifying prospect.

The idea of having one of his sisters back under the same roof, equally exciting and terrifying.

New possibilities and probabilities were opening up. Not all of them good, but neither were all of them bad.

Besides, outside the Kingdom meant it was guaranteed he'd receive at least a little bit of combat training.

Still though, what did Bulwark have to do with tensions between Mistral and Vale?

Eventually the familiar darkness crept back across his vision, but that prickle at the base of his spine persisted.

He just couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

* * *

 **Thoughts?**


	3. Chapter 2: On Swift Wings

**And we continue story set up with a travelling chapter, in which we introduce their new home.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 **On Swift Wings**

* * *

Despite what Liadain had said, the move to Bulwark wasn't actually that immediate at all.

If anything, it happened slowly.

Ozpin claimed the senior Arcs for meetings that stretched on for hours, often not returning home until well after the sunset and almost always bearing frowns. Discussions that should have taken minutes stretched on for days, sorting out the family's assets in Vale becoming a lengthy chore.

What was going to accompany them? What would be left behind?

Essentially, they were asking a question. Was the move temporary, or would it be a permanent one? Was home still in Vale, or would they make a new home in Bulwark?

Jaune had no idea what answer they expected, or where it would come from, but preparations dragged on as they waited. Days turned into weeks and eventually it was decided that it would simply be easier to delay the move until Verdant graduated from Signal. And so, the family found themselves with ample time to sort out their affairs.

For Jaune, it mostly involved just wandering.

He revisited the places in Vale he'd miss, largely childhood haunts he hadn't been to in years. He said his goodbyes to the few friends that hadn't gone off to combat school, or that he hadn't simply grown apart from as the years passed by. Every action normally done when leaving home was undertaken, but it was all with such little nostalgia. Almost as a cursory gesture, one acknowledging his departure rather than prompted by genuine emotion.

As if to say, yes, I am leaving.

Even packing everything he considered truly important had only taken an hour or so, everything else simply shuffled off to storage or disposed off with none of the deliberation that consumed his parents.

It was surprisingly really, even to Jaune himself.

He was an emotional person, he'd been one his entire life; prone to becoming invested in people, places and things at the drop of a hat. To the point where it had become a joke for his family.

But when the time came to leave home, to leave behind everything he knew, he found it easy. Because as it turned out, he'd already said his goodbyes.

One by one, his sisters had left home. His friends had gone down paths he'd been unable to follow, and with every year his parents went on more and more missions while he just lingered. Home had slowly stopped being a place of comfort and companionship for him; instead it had simply become a memory of it. One that had been left behind without even realising.

So he just wandered.

He walked through the city streets, enjoying the creature comforts that wouldn't be found in a fortified border town, and then he was gone.

No fuss, no fanfare and no tears.

With only his clothes, trinkets his sisters had given him over the years and, of course, Crocea Mors; Jaune Arc left home.

* * *

'Uhhhhhhh.'

Groaning was the only sound Jaune felt capable of making, interspersed between dry retching and the occasional involuntary gurgle.

Travel had been a very rare thing in his life, occurring only on those infrequent trips to visit extended family. On the whole something avoided as much as possible and stopped entirely as soon as feasibly possible. Not because of any concerns for safety or the cost or anything of the like, but simply because Jaune found it utterly unbearable. Despite the fact that every trip he'd taken thus far had been in passenger airships, universally agreed to be the most comfortable form of inter-continental travel, each trip was an exercise in nausea and a generally unpleasant exercise.

Needless to say, he found the Bullhead to be pure torture.

Jaune was cramped in a small seat against a metal bulkhead, his head periodically banging against it from the jostling of the airship with enough force to leave an indent in the metal. Or in the far likelier case, in his skull. Even worse than that were the vicious winds that swirled through the cabin, the cold chilling him to his very bones despite his padded clothing. But as horrible as all of that was, none of it compared to the storm that raged inside his stomach.

In the hopes that it would mitigate his motion sickness, Jaune kept his eyes steadfastly closed.

It didn't.

A particularly sharp jolt launched Jaune into the air, his pitiful groaning cut off with a pained yelp as the harness cut painfully into his body. For a split-second Jaune felt the terrifying sensation of free fall, his stomach floating weightlessly inside him as gravity released its hold on him. Then he crashed painfully into his seat. His eyes snapped open from the sudden shock despite his very best efforts to keep them shut, and in his momentary panic they immediately zeroed in on the object of his distress, the open doors of the Bullhead.

The Forever Fall rushed by at an unbelievable rate beneath the airship, the scarlet foliage blurring together until it was nothing more than a stream of colour. A picture of beauty that was entirely lost on Jaune.

His only thought was that if not for his harness, he would have tumbled out of his seat, across the floor and out the door. Likely to his death.

A very very very long fall to his death.

Splat.

His body rebelled.

Nausea rose like a tremendous wave within him, threatening to come down with enough force to see him undone. The pallor of his face was quickly overcome by a greenish tinge as his stomach twisted itself into painful knots; burning, heaving, threatening to violently expel his breakfast.

With another tortured groan, Jaune leant back against the airship wall and let his eyes slide shut once more. The abrasions from the harness were throbbing, the bruises from the jostling were making themselves known and his stomach was in open rebellion. He held himself in check by sheer force of will, but Jaune was stuck fighting a losing battle. A losing battle against his own traitorous body.

Something tickled his nose, brushing ever so gently against the tip.

Weakly, he shifted position, angling his face just enough to see his sister through slitted eyes. She'd silently assumed the seat beside him, presumably at the very moment his face had turned green.

Like a shark, she'd smelt blood in the water.

A predatory, mischievous shark.

One that happened to be the perfect picture of grace, not a single piece of her outfit in disarray. Her forest-green dress was delicately arranged, her bronze pendant fixed in place, entirely untouched by the strong winds swirling through the cabin. She offered a smile, a warm one. One the face of it, it seemed genuine enough. Affection masked the sisterly evil Jaune knew to be present, and so his only response was a huff.

He settled back against the wall and closed his eyes again, knowing from experience that any accusation would be met with nothing but a bemused inquiry. He'd made that mistake before, once accusing her of taking his X-ray and Vav action figures. Somehow, he'd returned to his room convinced that he'd never owned such a toy in the first place.

Naturally he'd then found them displayed playfully on his pillow in...unexpected positions.

No, the only recourse was to ignore her. To wear her down with superior patience until she lost interest.

The tickle came again.

Just wait it out.

More insistently, but also more lightly.

His eyebrow twitched.

A feather touch on the tip of his nose, like a sneeze that just wouldn't come.

His head snapped towards her, moving just fast enough to catch her blowing a lock of blonde hair towards him. Instantaneously, her pursed lips became a whistle; the stray lock returning seamlessly to the loose stream that billowed artfully in the wind.

'I hate you,' Jaune moaned.

Her response was a smug grin and a jaunty tune.

'Ver, stop bothering Jaune. Jaune, if she doesn't stop, feel free to be sick in her direction.'

Jaq's voice carried easily over the noise of the Bullhead from his position by the open door. A gargantuan greatsword rested easily on his should and an equally large grin on his face as he watched the siblings.

'Bother Jauney?' She pressed a hand to her chest in mock offence, affecting a tone of righteous indignation. 'I would _never._ '

He whimpered. He wasn't proud of it, but the only description of the sound that emanated from his mouth was a whimper. She laughed, but thankfully took pity and left to chat with their father and dangle her legs out of the airship. Verdant had always had a certain affinity for the sky. An affinity that Jaune just lacked, just seeing her that close to the edge made his stomach roll. Still though, even Cerise who was practically tied to the earth handled flying better than him. He was cursed to be the only Arc that suffered from motion sickness.

Jaune turned back to face the opposite wall, unable to stand the sight any longer and immediately jumped in fright. Once more, the harness was the only thing keeping him within the airship. The sudden movement only exacerbated his sickness, making him groan and double over as bile rose in his throat.

Liadain had occupied the empty chair without a noise.

Jaune missed his less stealthy siblings. He was also very grateful that his more stealthy sisters weren't present. There was a limit to how much he could handle.

Small circles were rubbed on his back to soothe him, just as she had done in the years passed before he'd stopped flying altogether.

'M'fine.' He mumbled, flushing at being treated like a child. 'Can't we just close the doors?'

'Sorry dear,' she replied sympathetically. 'We need them open, just in case. A lone Bullhead won't discourage a flock if they chose to pursue us.'

A piercing shriek sounded from outside, followed by a cacophony of cawing. A warning to collect babes and livestock alike, to seek shelter wherever it may be found.

It was a sound most Valians would recognise instantly, even those raised within the protections of the Kingdom, ingrained by years of being prey.

Nevermore.

The universe was a bitch like that.

'Case in point,' murmured Laidain. 'Jaq?'

Jaune risked a quick glance to see his father's grin undimmed and his sword in the midst of shifting. Verdant hadn't even bothered to draw her legs back into the ship, still sitting placidly at the opening. Jaq's response was a joyful whoop followed by the thundering of a very large machine gun, his exuberance prompting an eye roll and an amused smile from Lia.

Jaune didn't share his father's feelings. He felt his strangled groan was an effective summation of his feelings of both the flight and the Grimm.

'How about a story?' she asked kindly.

The offer didn't exactly help with his feeling like a child, but he did desperately need to take his mind off of the flight, enough that he'd forego his pride. The tattered remains of his pride at least, so he acceded.

Besides, Jaune loved hearing tales of hunters and heroes, his mother's tales in particular even if he'd never admit such to his father. Although her stories were just as often about members of her family line, either directly or indirectly, the lack of the Arc name meant he could simply enjoy them for what they were. Tales of triumph and sacrifice, of heroes and great deeds; the things he aspired to. The stories of Arcs however, they were what he was meant to be, what he'd already failed to be.

Jaune made a futile effort to get comfortable in his seat as Liadain began her tale, barely noticing as the bite of the wind eased and the roar of the gun dulled.

'Of the heroes immortalised in our history, whose hands shaped the Remnant today, there are few as noble or noteworthy as the Horned Hunter. Who clashed against now forgotten Grimm, his soul a bright light against the darkness, a shining beacon in the blackest of nights.'

Jaune knew this tale, he'd heard it before. Only once, and early enough that he recalled precious little else, but the story itself he remembered well.

'The Guardian in the Forest, the mighty stag who slew feared Arawn, bringing hope to the Valley.'

It wasn't a well recorded legend; anti-Faunus prejudice reducing what should have been a celebrated hero to no more than a footnote of history. But even so, it was one of Jaune's favourites.

'This is the tale, of Cernunnos.'

The sickness and tension slowly slipped away as he listened to his mother's voice, sleep creeping into their stead. Words faded to no more than soothing sounds, incomprehensible in their meaning but comforting in tone.

Before long, he slumbered peacefully. Undisturbed as the Bullhead flew north-east, speeding onwards towards their new home.

* * *

 _Vicious snarls, white bone stained red._

 _Running frantically through bloodied streets, people scattering in every direction, heedless of a shouting voice._

'Jaune.'

 _Fear. Falling._

 _Pain._

'Jaune.'

 _Blue eyes opened wide in terror. A hand clawing at empty air as a desperate scream shattered the air. Screaming out a name._

'Jaune.'

The hand shaking him awake was gentle, as was the call of his name, but Jaune's awakening was violently sudden regardless. He shot up in his seat with urgency before the large hand steadied him. Blearily, he looked up at the blurry face, not quite fully conscious and still caught in the echoes of a fading dream. Something that had been happening more and more of late.

It took a moment, but eventually he realised that the face was just the smiling visage of his father.

'You're gonna want to see this, trust me.'

Jaq freed Jaune from his harness and lifted him out of the chair with ease. Still unused to the movement of the airship, he immediately almost lost his footing before Jaq steadied him. Gently, he was shepherded towards the cockpit. As they walked, Jaune noticed the scattered bullet casings littering the floor. A significant amount, like, a lot. And not all of it was of the same kind. He supposed his sister had joined his father in defending the transport, perhaps his mother as well though she wouldn't have left bullet casings.

For a moment, he wondered what had beset them. If his family had fought out of boredom, or out of necessity.

Had they been young Nevermore, a group any half-trained hunter could deal with? Or had it been a flock of truly monstrous Giant Nevermore, the kind full teams of hunters were typically deployed to deal with?

Given the distance from Vale, Jaune was willing to bet on the latter.

And it had been brushed off as if it was no big deal. Oh, the terror inducing avian Grimm of gigantic proportions, just business as usual. And for his parents, he supposed that it actually was. The difference between hearing about his parent's prowess and actually seeing it was a sobering one. There was a reason they'd been specifically requested after all.

Once inside the cockpit, Jaune was pushed to stand alongside his sister behind the pilot's chair as the senior Arcs took their places behind them. All of them staring ahead at their destination, at what would be their new home.

His jaw dropped.

Even after everything he'd heard about Bulwark, he still hadn't expected it to be anything more than a village, even a well defended one.

Life outside the Kingdoms was harsh, brutal even. Filled with death, hardship and the Grimm; every moment was a struggle, not just to thrive but just to survive. It was a fact, and particularly true for settlements as their very nature attracted the monsters. A veritable buffet of stress, fear and desire. The sole reason that mines and farms could survive was because they had something worth protecting. A resource that made it worth throwing other resources at it to protect it, and even then there was no small amount of danger.

There was no room for comfort. The very idea of security, of real security, was a myth.

And yet, the image before him defied that.

Before him, was a very impressive sight.

A great wall of polished stone rose from a thick forest, the very picture of unyielding strength. In the first second he saw it, Jaune immediately understood why it had never yet been breached. Run of the mill Grimm couldn't shatter such stone, it would require one of the greater monsters, the kind that rarely made their presence known.

And beyond the wall, encircled by it, there was a city.

A real city.

Buildings spanned from the forest to the coast, clearly organised and planned rather than in the haphazard style of most settlements. He could see paved roads and small parks, market stalls and cozy homes. At the farthest northern edge of the city where the wall met the ocean, he could just barely make out a bustling port filled with laden barges. And in the centre, a blazing sun. A tall spire that towered over its surrounding buildings and was topped by an illuminated sphere, the perfect symbol for Helios.

In the grand scheme of things, Jaune supposed it wasn't a large city. It paled in comparison to the smallest of the Kingdoms, not even comparable in size to the major settlements of Menagerie that he'd seen in photos. But it was still so much more than any village outpost, far greater than any dust mine; for it to exist, so far outside of a kingdom and untouched.

It was history in the making. A sight to behold, one that inspired hope.

Jaune turned his gaze lower to the terrain outside of the walls as the Bullhead began to descend, investigating what lay outside of the boundaries that would be his new home. He couldn't see much, still too high for minute details to say nothing of the dense covering provided by the forest. But there were pockets of visibility, small areas where the trees had been cleared that Jaune examined with interest.

Large entrances had been carved into the ground, deep enough that they seemed little more than black holes in the earth but far too neat to be naturally occurring. As they drew closer, he could make out masses of men and machinery surrounding them. The majority of them were streaming in and out of the caves while others simply stood around, presumably acting as guards. At the very nearest one, Jaune could just barely make out a few figures of bright colour, unmoving amidst the bustle but standing out nonetheless; Hunters.

And there it was, the answer as to why Bulwark could thrive.

It may have been a city, the most successful since the Kingdoms themselves and that alone made it worth protecting. But it was also a dust mine, a large one by the looks of it, and that was what made it valuable.

He should have expected as much. Whatever it had become, it wouldn't have had the chance without something to justify its existence. Something that made it worth Helios putting so much into it in the first place.

It wasn't until Jaq heartily clapped him on the back that Jaune was broken from his reverie, startled to notice that the Bullhead had already touched down in the airship bay atop the south wall.

'Welcome to Bulwark.'

* * *

 **Let me know what you think. My ego and anxiety both demand it.**


	4. Chapter 3: The Surface of the Sun

**Man, finding the time to write. Pretty hard.**

 **I went back an fixed the more egregious errors in the previous chapters. Most of them. Some of them. Okay, whatever jumped out at me in a cursory sweep.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 **The Surface of the Sun**

* * *

Jaune disembarked with a palpable relief at the prospect of being on solid ground once more. At least, as solid as ground could be when it was actually a semicircular platform affixed to the top of a very tall wall. So really only ground by extension, and by using a very liberal interpretation of the word.

Still though, in comparison to the flight it was downright pleasant.

With his every step, Jaune felt a little more aware, a little more like himself. Enough to notice that they appeared to be waiting for something

For what exactly, he wasn't sure.

Presumably some sort of guide or whatever passed for an immigration official out here. After all, they surely wouldn't just be set adrift in the city without an introduction.

But while Verdant was perched on their luggage without a care in the world, there were clear traces of tension in both parents. Far more so than any mere formality warranted.

The stiffness in Liadain's posture, the marks Jaq was drumming into his belt. No matter how much they would have appeared as such to an unfamiliar observer, those actions weren't born of impatience. Jaune could say that for certain after years and years of often unintentional testing.

Without any actual information however, that was about all that he could deduce. So instead, Jaune had to content himself with simply looking around to pass the time.

The first thing that struck him was just how busy it was

The Arcs stood in the centre of the landing bay, airships surrounding them in a partial ring, facing a group of elevators that led down to the city proper. They were surprisingly crude. Little more than metal platforms and grating attached to the interior face of the wall, leaving their occupants exposed to the open air. As if they'd been built for construction and never replaced.

The majority were obviously freight elevators. Each and every one in use as workers hurriedly unloaded sun branded crates and rushed them onto awaiting cargoships. While other workers frantically repaired Bullheads that bore the marks of battle, prepping them to serve as escorts once more. It was a constant mess of never-ending maintenance, loading and unloading.

A harsh squeal of metal announced the arrival of the sole passenger elevator, the rarely used machinery shrieking in stark contrast to the well-oiled and evidently well-used freight elevators.

The welcoming party had arrived.

Jaq's fingers stilled, Verdant perked up from her perch and Jaune was torn from his observations. Their focus on that single point. All of them, waiting.

The gate was drawn back with another screech and three men stepped out onto the dock. A tanned man with cropped bronze hair, flanked by two dour men that at first glance could be twins.

Jaune's eyes flickered over two. Their attire was neither the jumpsuit of the workers nor the armour of the soldiers manning the wall. Instead they were clad in simple white jackets completing grey three-piece suits. Unadorned save for small golden pins upon their lapel of an eight pointed sun. Longswords hung from their belts alongside a simple leather pouch, unassuming at a glance but the quality of their make clear.

It was no great leap to assume that these were a higher form of personnel. Not as noteworthy as hunters perhaps, but by design. Intended to be unobtrusive, but capable to any that cared to see.

Which meant, naturally, that the man they followed was someone of importance.

He was tall; notably so. Jaune could see his own father, no small man himself, would only reach his nose. But he was also shockingly thin, giving him an almost frail appearance. As though he'd once possessed normal proportions and then been stretched. Despite that, he wore his burnished gold armour as if it were feather light, and the claymore strapped to his back spoke volumes of his strength.

The result was almost aquiline. Sharp lines with a tight smile, a predator. Though his unsettling appearance was softened somewhat by the genuine welcome in his golden eyes.

'Ho Arcs!'

This was his parents' occasional teammate, seldom seen friend and now, their host.

The man that ruled this city.

Ballucis Aurelias.

Liadain offered a thin smile in return, whereas Jaq bound up and met him with a laugh and a thunderous clap on the shoulders.

'Ballucis! How the not-so-mighty have fallen.'

Everyone silently agreed to ignore the escorts' reach for their swords at Jaq's approach. As well as Ballucis' slight gesture that quelled them.

'An investment manager?' Jaq shook his head sadly. 'For shame.'

There was a flash of teeth in Ballucis' smile. An almost too casual shrug as he responded.

'It's an investment worth managing. Come, I'll show you to your home.'

* * *

Jaune was silent as the group trailed through the paved streets.

He'd barely said a word since their arrival, save an awkward response to Ballucis' inquiry into his training on the ride down from the wall. Their host had seemed a touch disappointed at the answer, not unkindly per se, but he'd responded for more positively to news of Verdant's graduation.

He hadn't addressed Jaune any further, and that suited Jaune just fine.

Every hair on his neck had been raised by their reception. The bad feeling he'd had on and off for weeks was back in full force, an insidious tickle at the base of his skull. And he was very very aware of the two men following silently behind them.

Put simply, Jaune was already on edge enough without the attention being on him.

He was doing his best to understand their greeting. To make sense of it and ease his rattled nerves with a rational explanation.

After all, the guards were protecting someone very important. The cousin of Helios' CEO and a prominent member of the Aurelias family, so vigilance was assuredly a good thing. Something expected of them.

But on the other hand, as the little voice in his head was pointing out.

There'd been no risk of Grimm. No threat save the approach of someone known to them, someone expected even. But their first instinct had still been to draw.

And that was disquieting.

Mistral politics were of a very different kind that any other Kingdom. A far less pleasant kind than any other Kingdom, with the possible exception of Vacuo. At least, that's what he'd gleaned from his sisters. They'd described it as an odd mix of oligarchy and meritocracy, which Jaune didn't exactly understand. Either what it meant or how it actually worked.

But what he did know; Mistral was a place of ambition, privilege and power.

There'd been an undertone to Ballucis' words. A hint of something in his smile.

Bulwark may technically be within Vale's borders. But something told Jaune Mistralian politics were very much in play.

He'd been thrust into a den of deathstalkers. Then he'd been told to live there.

So he was content to be silent. To watch and to listen until he learnt the rules of whatever game was being played. Or until he became a victim of it.

Luckily, when surrounded by his more able and more interesting family, it was unlikely he'd draw any notice at all.

A puppy fears little when protected by wolves.

For the first time in his life, Jaune was actually glad for that.

'It isn't far,' said Ballucis. 'Your family is actually situated relatively near to the south-wall.'

'Good neighbourhood?' Jaq asked faux earnestly. 'Cause, you know, we have kids.'

His answer was simply an exasperated glance before continuing, 'Afterwards, you'll be briefed at the Lighthouse with the details of your first assignments.'

'And what exactly are the nature of our assignments.' Liadain cut in, her tone sharp and demanding even as her eyes bore holes into their hosts' back. 'We weren't exactly well-informed before we were ordered here.'

'Simply easing the pressure on some of our resident hunters, culling and wall-duty largely.'

'And Mistral couldn't spare hunters for that?'

'Forgive me,' Ballucis replied with a smile. 'I enjoy working with familiar faces.'

Liadain's brows furrowed near imperceptibly. Whether from approval, disapproval, revelation or confusion, Jaune had no idea. But it must have been sufficient for her, as she lapsed into silence.

Verdant was content to entirely ignore the conversation. She flitted ahead and dropped behind the group as her interest was piqued.

'The Lighthouse?' Jaq asked.

Ballucis quirked an eyebrow at him, 'Did you truly believe the spire was a monument to my family's ego?'

'I mean…'

'Droll Jaq, very droll. I find myself forgetting exactly why I requested you, certainly not for your intellect.'

'My stunning good looks?'

Their host pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, but the amusement in his voice was clear.

'This is a port city, ergo the Lighthouse.'

Jaune tapped his mother on the elbow, mouthing his question when she turned to face him. Her eyes crinkled, a smile momentarily breaking through the grim visage she'd worn since their arrival.

She whispered the answer to his unspoken query, 'Therefore.'

'Uh-huh,' Jaq said dubiously. 'So it's just pure coincidence that there's a big ol' ball of light at the top? Sort of like the thing branded on literally everything you own?'

Ballucis employed the same strategy Jaune had seen many use many a time against his father, the most frequent being his mother. He simply continued as though Jaq had never spoken.

'It's also the main communications hub –'

'Literally everything.'

'– and our headquarters.'

'Surprising no one.'

'I see you still haven't found a way to fix him,' said Ballucis, looking over his shoulder at Liadain and Jaune. 'I shall continue to hope.'

She responded with a noncommittal hum, her face once more as hard as stone.

For the next few blocks, the conversation became little more than inane chatter. Largely consisting of Jaq claiming perfection couldn't be fixed to Ballucis' increasingly obvious annoyance.

Jaune did his best to keep an ear on their conversation, but the familiarity of the banter soothed him somewhat, regardless of what his brain said. He was almost unwillingly becoming relaxed enough to simply marvel at his new home. Though not enough to forget about their sword-happy shadows.

They were headed down a nice street, seemingly what passed for a commercial area in Bulwark. Buildings of shaped stone served as shops, smatterings of stalls interspersed amongst them. Little places for coffee, general goods stores and the like. As well as a dust store which was sort of a given.

There was even a stall that appeared to sell nothing but cabbages, its elderly proprietor glaring distrustfully at the group as they passed by. More than a little odd.

'I've been meaning to ask,' Jaq jerked his thumb back at the two guards.

'Pelte and Lockhion?'

'I knew it!' he crowed triumphantly. 'What happened to Tomis?'

'Ah,' Ballucis gave a shrug. 'Mistral took him.'

A shiver ran down Jaune's spine. He had a few guesses as to what that could mean. None of them good.

There went his burgeoning ease.

Liadain muttered darkly under her breath, her words scarcely louder than the breath itself.

'And they call us savages.'

Her eyes were fixed on Verdant as she idly examined the arrangements at a flower stall a short distance down the road. She was sniffing at a bouquet of begonias, utterly oblivious to the worried gaze of her mother.

* * *

It didn't take much longer for them to reach the house.

They continued a few blocks further down the commercial street, turned down a slightly narrower laneway, and then found themselves in a long row of perfectly uniform stone houses.

Which was decidedly the opposite of good news for Jaune.

At least the buildings in the commercial district varied in size and shape, even if they were all shaped stone. But here they were nearly identical. The similarity of the streets was enough of a problem, the houses just added a whole other level of difficulty.

The sole differences were minor aesthetic ones, implemented by residents in an effort to make them more homey. Needless to say when every house was the same shape, colour and material, their success was limited at best.

Hopefully there'd be some kind of map to download to his scroll. If not, Jaune had no idea how he'd find his way around.

Thankfully, their house had actually been spruced up slightly from the stock standard. Their shutters were a nice blue against the white stone, _Arc_ was spelled out in gold letters above the heavy wooden door.

It was nice. Benefit of being a Hunter he supposed.

Not enough for him to have recognised it before Ballucis stopped outside, but at least it provided some measure of recognising where he lived. Assuming he found the right area of the right street…in the right area of town.

God he hoped there would be a map.

They were ushered inside with their luggage and urgings to get settled before the senior Arcs disappeared with their escorts. Leaving Jaune and Verdant standing awkwardly on the threshold, examining their new house.

It wasn't spartan exactly; the furnishings were good quality, likely better than what others received. But it felt sterile, impersonal. Because it was. It was a house, plain and simple, not their home.

Perhaps one day it would be. Maybe time would smooth down its rough edges and history would give it warmth. But for now, it was a far cry from their comfortable Vale townhouse.

There was a fruit basket though. Which was also nice.

That it was surrounded by a veritable stack of brightly coloured pamphlets detailing rules, regulations and city features only slightly detracted from its opulence. Possibly more than slightly.

Jaune turned to face Verdant, but found himself struggling for words.

He wanted to speak. To ask her questions about their reception. What she'd taken from Ballucis' words, her impression of Bulwark in general, but the words just weren't forthcoming. Asking was suddenly a daunting prospect.

Would she call him paranoid? Tell him his discomfort was baseless?

Certainly she hadn't seemed to share his wariness on the way over, wandering without care.

If he asked would he be the scared child? Running to the powerful Huntress for comfort?

Once upon a time he would have asked without thought, he wouldn't have needed any. Regardless of whether he'd be mocked or answered seriously.

But there was a distance between them hadn't existed before. A gulf of experiences no longer shared, and made no narrower by four years of sporadic contact.

On the Bullhead, it had seemed easy. They'd fallen right back into old habits, or at least a version of them.

But now that they were alone, they had nothing to say.

And the silence between the stretched on.

'I call upstairs!'

Verdant disappeared in a blur, her bags and a few choice pieces of fruit disappearing.

With a sigh, Jaune hefted his own bag and went to find his own room.

The more things change…

He did take some fruit though.

No way in hell was she getting all of the nice pieces.

* * *

Seven gifts for a stone shelf.

One from each sister.

The sole decoration he'd brought to fill his bare room.

They weren't grandiose, nor celebrating any particular occasion. Instead, they were for little things. Small moments of meaning. Some of them old, from years he could scarcely remember, others more recent.

Moments to remember, of siblings seen too little.

He placed them one by one, his hands lingering on the first and the last. The oldest, and the youngest.

A chunk of quartz that glimmered with light, and a tiny bronze knight.

Gwen had given first. Back when he'd feared the dark, feared it would bring the Grimm. The second Verdant, gifted just before she'd left for Signal. A year before his own attempt. A dream they'd both shared.

Jaune loved all of his sisters of course, but it was them he'd been closest to.

Gwen was the eldest, already at Signal when Jaune was born. After becoming a Huntress, she'd made a point of being around for her youngest siblings. But when she felt they'd no longer needed her, she'd left. Off to the Badlands, to help those that needed it sorely, but it took her out of their reach.

And so it went for the others.

Combat School, Hunter Academy, and then their own paths. They'd made time when they could, but each had their own lives to live.

The youngest two by a significant amount, Jaune and Verdant had only really had each other.

It was with her he'd first played at being a hero, re-enacting the famous events and casting her as the villain. She'd taken to the role with gusto, cheating liberally and subverting history. But it was fun nevertheless.

They'd played, fought and most importantly, dreamed.

The youngest two in a family of Hunters, small wonder they'd hoped to follow those steps.

'So, Jay.'

Jaune nearly leapt out of his skin. Doing his absolute best to pretend his heart-rate hadn't jumped to dangerous levels, he slowly turned to see Verdant leaning against his doorjamb. Hopefully she hadn't been there very long.

'How's training coming?'

The answer must have been written all over his face, as she just grimaced and nodded.

'Right then.'

Her hand twitched.

A piece of brightly coloured paper hit him in the face, reducing his vision to nothing more than a splotch of colour. Immediately, he gasped in surprise. The sharp intake of air pulling the paper tighter against his mouth, creating a seal.

He couldn't breathe.

Panicked, Jaune scrabbled at his face, trying desperately to tear the damn thing off while his sister giggled at his plight. When it came loose, Jaune sucked in air like a dying man and fixed her with a baleful glare. She just giggled harder. Meeting his glare with amused and entirely unrepentant eyes.

Scowling, Jaune dropped his stare to examine her would-be murder weapon.

It was one of the pamphlets from the table.

'According to the map, there's a practice ground not too far from here.'

Did that mean…?

'Get your gear,' a downright wicked smile alighting her face. 'You're cruisin' for a bruisin'.'

Well, he had been hoping to learn to fight while he was here.

'And then maybe I'll teach you something.'

Jaune laughed apprehensively. Nervously even.

Nervously, fearfully and with anticipatory pain.

At least there was a map.

* * *

'That's a stick.'

'Glaive.'

'It's made of _**wood**_.'

'Practice glaive.'

Jaune was clad in his armour, sword and shield raised and ready to do combat.

In contrast on the opposite side of the practice ring, Verdant leant comfortably on a stick.

Her attire entirely unchanged, wholly unconcerned.

'It feels unfair.'

She stifled a grin.

'Jaune, I have no response that won't sound mean. But yes, it is unfair.'

His cheeks coloured at her assertion, knowing there was no small amount of truth in her words.

'Now, come on!' she jabbed the butt of her staff into the ground, a puff of dust exploding upwards at the impact. 'Let's go already.'

Reluctantly, Jaune started his advance. He ran at her full tilt, Crocea Mors extended before him. Ready to slice and skewer at the slightest movement.

Verdant hadn't so much as twitched.

Instead, she was just grinning openly now. Still casually leaning on her staff.

This was ridiculous.

A single swipe would cut through her weapon. An unlucky slash would wound her. It wasn't as though he thought he could win, in fact he was pretty sure that was impossible. But the risk of an accidental maiming was just too high no matter how confident she was.

Jaune let his pace slow, stopping entirely a few paces in front of her.

'Look,'

Her eyes narrowed.

'Why don't I just use a pract–'

His hand exploded in pain. As did his ankle. Barely an instant between them.

The air was driven out his lungs as he impacted against the packed dirt. His pained shout became nothing more than a wheeze of agony.

He hadn't even seen her move.

The tip of her boot poked him in the side of the head, prompting him to look up at her as she stood next to his splayed out form.

'Lesson the first; if your beautiful and talented sister tells you to do something. You do it.'

Jaune just wheezed again, words beyond him.

'Also a bunch of stuff about hesitation, guard, attention and footing. You can figure that out yourself though, right?'

'Meep.'

Well, at least it wasn't a wheeze.

'Okay then! Let's go again!'

Confusion was written into every pore of Jaune's face.

His sword had left his hand when she'd struck him. It was somewhere off to his right and out of reach. He was still winded and, most importantly, he was on his back.

Surely she didn't mean…

Verdant tutted.

'Lesson the first Jay.'

Her staff moved in a blur. Whipping up and plunging down at speeds Jaune could scarcely follow. Even as he shrieked his fear, he forced his shield up. Positioning it just in time to meet the blow.

It had the force of wrecking ball.

His arm buckled immediately, the back of his own shield smashing painfully into his face.

A metallic tang filled his mouth. Blood.

Not pausing and giving no quarter, the glaive came down again.

Jaune rolled desperately, just barely avoiding the second blow. Narrowly enough that it tore out a few hairs. The sheer force of the impact washed over him, the sound reverberated in his ears.

It was terrifying.

As he rolled, Jaune snatched up Crocea Mors, using it to push himself to a kneeling position without a moment to spare. He glimpsed her boots leaving the ground, leaping towards him at speed. Jaune grit his teeth as he forced his protesting arm over his head, taking it on the shield.

It nearly sent him straight into the dirt. Pain shot up his arm, not yet recovered from the last block, but he held on.

He slashed viciously as he rose, intending to catch her thigh to shoulder, but she avoided it with ease. Skipping backwards as if he'd grabbed at her in a game of tag. Then she lunged back in.

The wooden butt of her glaive struck him in the chest before he could even think about countering, snaking around his shield as if it didn't exist. His feet scrabbled for purchase as he skidded backwards, but all too soon they slipped out from under him.

He crashed into the ground with enough force that his teeth rattled and rolled to avoid the pursuing blow. But the blow didn't come.

Jaune lifted his sweaty head, the dirt of the ring's floor caked to his face.

She was waiting.

Instead of pursuing with another strike, she was waiting for him to stand. She hadn't even made use of the wooden blade on her weapon yet, restricting herself to the stave.

She was playing with him.

He'd been offended if he wasn't bleeding internally.

'Ow. Ow. Ow.'

Every movement hurt as Jaune pushed himself up.

They hadn't been fighting very long at all. If he had to guess, they would have been going for less than three minutes but it felt more like hours. The sheer force and speed of her blows were already taking their toll on his body.

Once he was standing, Verdan began.

It started slow; she twirled the glaive in lazy circles, approaching at the speed of a casual stroll. But with every rotation, the spin became faster.

There was a smile on her face as she stalked towards him. The cat that had caught the canary.

Or the Grimm that had caught the injured human.

That analogy was better.

A few steps away, the glaive was nothing but a blur.

He couldn't afford to wait for her to strike.

Jaune threw himself forwards, levering his shield to break the momentum of the spin.

Theoretically at least.

In actuality, Jaune ate dirt. A lot of dirt.

He was sent skidding across the ring floor, layers upon layers of skin rubbed off by friction. When he came to a stop, he lay still.

'I think I have carpet burn.'

'It's dirt Jaune.'

'I think I have dirt burn.'

'Not a thing.'

The tip of her glaive slid under his side, rolling him over with barely a movement. Jaune cringed, helpless before the strike, but instead she offered a hand.

'You get short break.'

She pulled him up to a sitting position, ignoring his groans of pain and sat herself beside him. While Jaune was coated liberally in dirt, sweat and a veritable collection of bruises, she was still perfectly immaculate.

'I think you broke me.'

Verdant just laughed and nudged his shoulder playfully, eliciting another whimper from Jaune.

'Remember Jauney,' she replied, rolling her eyes at his reaction. 'Pain is the best teacher.

He glared at her. Tried to anyway. It ended up as little more than a twitch of his eyebrow before it exploded in pain.

'Gah!' The skin had split at some point during their spar. 'So what's pain teaching me now?'

'Dunno, get better?'

The words were delivered with a shrug and a smile. Jaune appreciated them little.

'You'll be off to Beacon soon I guess.'

He didn't bother trying to mask his jealousy, she already knew his aspirations. They'd shared them after all.

'Actually,' she awkwardly toyed with a lock of hair. 'I was thinking about Haven.'

His neck almost snapped it swivelled so quickly.

'I know, I know,' she said helplessly. 'But now that it's actually here, Beacon just seems so…Vale.'

Well quite frankly that sounded unkind. To Vale and Beacon both. But Jaune could see what she meant.

At Beacon she would excel, but she'd never truly stand out. No matter how good she was, ultimately she would just be another link in the chain.

The seventh Arc of the generation. Another part of the legacy.

Any mark made wouldn't be her own.

Whereas at Haven, she'd be the first Arc since the Great War.

Even so, Jaune hadn't expected it.

'Besides, Vi's there and she says Mistral is a ton of fun. Wayyy more adventure than Vale.'

Verdant planned to go right into the belly of the beast that was Mistral. Diving headfirst into the snakepit that Haven was a proving ground for. At least their second eldest sister had waited until she was a fully-fledged Huntress.

Not to mention whatever was going on between Vale and Mistral.

Hunters and Hunters-in-training got tangled up in enough as it was. But in Mistral, where politics and intrigue were as much part of the Academy as more the standard training, it was basically a foregone conclusion she'd end up involved. If not in that, then something else.

Adventure indeed.

No wonder their mother was so worried.

'Breaks over!'

For a brief instant, Jaune knew what it was like to fly.

He was then reacquainted with the ground.

Repeatedly.

* * *

 **Okay, full disclosure. I don't love this chapter.**

 **It feels simultaneously too short and too long. Self indulgent, lots of introspection and clumsy writing to give backstory that could be given in a better way. But I also can't tell whether or not I'm feeling that just because I've been mulling over it too long.**

 **I might end up taking it down and rewriting it if I can come up with a better version, so any feedback is helpful.**

 **But for now, hopefully enjoy.**


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